


Night In Veils

by Edge_of_Clairvoyance



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action, Brotherly Affection, Brothers, Case Fic, Comfort, Family, Gen, Haunting, Humor, Monsters, POV Dean Winchester, Pre-Series, Pre-Series Dean Winchester, Pre-Series Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Teen Dean Winchester, Teenchesters, Weechesters, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 17:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15151973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edge_of_Clairvoyance/pseuds/Edge_of_Clairvoyance
Summary: EXT. DESERTED GAS STATION - NIGHTMontana, close to midnight, woods, a road that hadn't been maintained in years. A black '67 Chevrolet Imapala is sitting by the run-down building of the gas station.INT. DESERTED GAS STATION - NIGHTTwo young boys huddle together near a burning fire, waiting for their father to return.





	Night In Veils

**Author's Note:**

> [alexofthegarden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexofthegarden/pseuds/alexofthegarden), [CrazedPanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazedPanda) and [ToscaRossetti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToscaRossetti/pseuds/ToscaRossetti) didn't let me make a single mistake, and if you still find any, it's my fault :)

"Dean, wake up."

Dean startled awake. It took him a second to get his bearing – he must have been more deeply asleep than he meant – but the interior of the Impala and Sammy's warm little weight against him were familiar enough, even in the dark.

Why was it so dark?

Dean blinked and looked at Dad. "Where are we?"

"Middle of Nowhere, Montana."

Something was off. "Dad, what's wrong?"

"Come outside. Don't wake Sam up" - as if he had to be told. The kid hadn't finished recovering from that nasty strep and needed all the rest he could get.

Dean shifted Sam carefully until he got him settled on the car bench, made sure he was still asleep, slid out of the car and looked around in the faint moonlight filtering through the clouds. Middle of Nowhere indeed; they were on a road that hadn't been maintained in years. Off to one side there was a gas station, completely dark and deserted. The windows were all smashed in, the walls riddled with holes. As if on cue, a long, sad howl of a wolf drifted down to them from somewhere in the woods.

"We're out of gas," Dad said without preamble.

Dean nearly gaped. "What? How? You always keep her gassed up."

"I don't have a damned clue. The needle says she's full, but she ain't; something must be wrong with the gauge. I crawled the last half a mile on fumes. No cell phone reception, either."

Dean glanced at his watch – eleven o'clock – and took another look around. "So now what?"

"I'll walk back to the intersection we passed about eight miles back, where we got off the main road, and try to hitch a ride to a gas station."

Dean's brain was already working on the calculations; Sam was getting bigger, but he wasn't even eleven years old, and a long way from any visible growth-sprut. "Okay, so I can piggyback Sam for a few miles at least and-"

Dad held up a hand. "You're both staying here."

Dean had to admit it made sense. Dad would move much faster on his own, plus there was no point in hauling Sammy's scrawny ass around on a freezing night with the kid still being sick, not with the smell of oncoming snow so evident in the air. Then why was Dean's first thought getting as far away from that place as possible? He made himself shake it off.

"Not in the car, though," Dad said.  "It seems like it's gonna snow, and you can't have the heating working without any gas. You'll just freeze."

"So what, in there?" Dean glanced over at the shabby building. "It's got more holes than Swiss cheese, how is that better?"

"I took a look inside. There's an office, the walls are almost whole. And there's a metal filing cabinet that we can light some fire in. Plenty of wood around. We'll get all the blankets and sleeping bags from the car, and with the fire it ought to be enough."

It sounded okay to Dean. Maybe even better than some of the rental places and motels they had been in that had crappy radiators and busted-up heaters; no match for a real fire.

They left Sam asleep in the car while Dad took Dean inside the building. It looked like every other small Gas N' Sip. There was no merchandise on the shelves, and no electric appliances apart from the big refrigerators that stood empty and gaping. The counter was partly demolished.

Dad moved deeper inside the store, through a short corridor and into a small office. It had some broken furniture – Dean could make out a desk and a swivel chair – and indeed a filing cabinet. Dad was also right about the office walls; they were cracked but not punctured, and considering the only windows, in the door and the wall right right beside it, faced the the store, Dean figured the office might not have external walls, but probably some storage space behind it. He thought it might be a bit less cold in here.

He helped Dad remove the drawers from the cabinet and tip it over so it was set like a water trough. Dad had brought their axes, and they chopped the desk up, put some of the wood into the cabinet and piled the rest to be used later. With some yellowing pages from old newspapers and a little lighter fluid, the fire was up in no time.

Dad cleared up a space in the corner of the room furthest from the door while Dean went to get their blankets and sleeping bags. They arranged them in the corner, close enough to the fire to be warm but not too close to risk a spark landing on them.

They went back to the car, and as Dad gathered their food supply, Dean climbed into the back seat.

"Sammy," he nudged the sleeping child gently. Sam stirred and made a little noise but didn't open his eyes. "C'mon, kiddo, wake up." Dean nudged his brother again, more firmly. "Wakey wakey. Just for a little while, and then you can go back to sleep."

Sam moaned and his eyelids fluttered open. "Are we there yet?" His voice was slurred with sleep, but also hoarse with the remnants of the strep.

"Not yet. Making a little stop. C'mon."

He half-dragged Sam over the bench and out the car, where he hoisted the kid up in his arms and carried him inside. He laid Sam down on the sleeping bag Dad and he set as a mattress and started to wrap him up in blankets. By the time Dad had finished bringing their supplies in, Sam looked like a small, red-eyed burrito.

"Okay, so you have enough food and water here," Dad said. He held out a can of rock salt to Dean. "Salt the door and window and come out to get some weapons."

Dean laid the salt-lines, then took another look at the cracked walls, shook his head and poured the salt all along the walls of the small office. Then he went out to the car.

Dad let the false bottom of the trunk close when Dean drew near. The wind was picking up, and Dean tightened his coat around him. He thought he heard the lone wolf howl again, but it could have been just the wind.

"Two handguns, a sawed-off, regular and silver bullet, and salt rounds," Dad counted the items off as he passed them on to Dean. "A bottle of holy water. There's enough wood inside for stakes if you need them. Got your knife?"

"Yes, sir. Are you leaving the EMF meter too?"

Dad shrugged and retrieved it from his jacket pocket. "I checked out the place, no reading. But you can have it. I'm leaving you the keys, too, in case you need something from the car."

Dean finished arranging the items in his pockets and in his arms to be carried inside and looked up at Dad.

"We'll be fine," he said, trying on his most carefree grin.

Dad just looked at him for a minute, and then reached to clap him on the shoulder. "I know you will. Take care, Dean. Watch out for Sammy."

"Yes, sir."

Dad hoisted his backpack on his shoulder, bettered his grip on the empty container that usually held the gasoline they used to torch corpses with, and started walking down the road. He quickly vanished into the darkness, and Dean went back to the gas station's office.

Sam was awake, and watched Dean arrange the weapons beside him before settling next to Sam on the sleeping bag.

"Where are we?" Sam asked.

"Montana."

"Yeah, but _where_?"

"I dunno," Dean felt Sam's forehead with the back of his hand. "How're you feeling?"

Sam coughed. "Okay, I guess. What is this place?"

"A deserted gas station. We ran out of gas and Dad went back to the main road to try and hitch a ride. We're waiting for him here."

Sam coughed again. "He didn't fill the container after the last job, did he?"

Dean almost smiled at the accusing tone, but just almost. Sam was right, and Dad could have saved them this mess if he had only filled the damned container. "He didn't. But you know the police were on his ass and we had to bail."

"Whatever," Sam curled deeper into the blankets. "Is it snowing?"

"Not yet. Looks like it's gonna. Are you cold?"

"Yeah, a little."

Dean got some chopped wood from the pile and added it to the fire. It rose a bit and settled. He sat back down and put an arm around Sam, making the kid lean against him. Sam rested his head on Dean's shoulder.

"It's like camping, isn't it, Sammy? I wish I'd gotten some marshmallows instead of Snickers so we could have roasted them."

"We're _indoors_ ," Dean could feel his little brother's bitchface without even seeing it. He nudged Sam lightly

"Hey, work me here, dude. We have to be here until Dad gets back, so we might as well try to enjoy it."

"It's always how it is, isn't it?" Sam said quietly. "We're always waiting somewhere for Dad to get back."

Dean reached to card his fingers through Sam's hair. "He's doing important work, he's saving people. We need to back him up."

"We're people, too," Sam said, even more quietly.

Dean had no good answer for that. He let Sam huddle a little closer. They sat in silence for a while, watching the fire.

"Why is it so cold in here?" Sam asked.

Dean frowned. The fire was burning nicely, both of them were dressed in several layers of clothing and their little nest of blankets was already cozy with their combined body heat. But it was cold, and he could see his breath rising in little white clouds.

Dean reached for the EMF meter and flipped it on. The device beeped to life with all the tiny bulbs flashing red.

"Crap," Dean muttered. He looked up at the door and thought he saw a movement beyond the murky, cracked glass set in its window. Crap indeed.

"Don't move," he reached for the sawed-off and got to his feet.

"Dean," Sam's voice was shaking a bit.

"It's okay, Sammy, just stay there."

Dean leveled the gun at the door and took a step forward. He watched both windows, but nothing seemed to be moving anymore. He took another step forward.

"Dean, don't go out there."

"I'm not going out there."

He stepped forward again, the barrel almost touching the door. He reached for the doorknob and pulled until he had the door ajar, and then moved so he could thread the barrel in the opening, being careful to stay well behind the salt-line. The fire was making it tricky to make anything out, with the way the shadows were dancing about. Dean stood motionless, gun quivering slightly with his breaths. He could hear the wolf howling outside. It seemed much closer this time, and Dean's brow creased.

He used the barrel of the gun to move the door a little and leveled it again. "Sam," he said without turning his head. "Check the meter."

Behind him there were rustling noises, and then the all-too-familiar beeping. "It's still there," Sam's voice was trembling.

"It's not coming in here, okay? Just stay put."

Dean moved a bit to the side, closer to the wall, so he could take a look at that angle. He heard the faint crunching his foot made against the salt-line and hurriedly moved it back. He held his position, trying to listen to something other than the crackling of the fire and the sound of the wind, and to see something other than grey shapes and deluding shadows.

When the figure appeared out of thin air just inches from the barrel, Dean pulled the trigger without even thinking about it. The shot rang too loud, and Dean could only catch sight of what seemed like a cloud of white dust before it faded into nothing.

"Dean!" He had to let one hand go of the gun to signal Sam to stay. He held still, almost panting, eyes scanning the too-many shadows beyond the door.

He heard a low beeping. "It's gone," Sam said. "There's just residue."

Dean let out a breath and lowered the gun. He almost raised it when the wolf howled, so close it might have been standing just at the store entrance. Maybe he needed to make sure it wasn't, but he felt no urge to cross the salt-line right now.

Dean nudged the door closed and went back to the nest of blankets. Sam had shed all the covers that wrapped him and was kneeling on the sleeping bag with the EMF meter in his hands. The device was bleeping faintly now, only one bulb blinking.

Dean dropped down next to him, checked the gun and put it on the floor. His hands were shaking slightly, so he busied them with wrapping Sam up again. But Sam was having none of it.

"I don't want those blankets, I can't move like this," he said.

"You don't need to move, dude. That's what I'm here for."

"What if the ghost comes in?"

"It can't. We got salt all around the room, and I just blasted its ass away. It'll take some time to come back."

He managed to get Sam partially covered. The kid still clutched the EMF meter and stared down at it as if it held the answer to life, the universe and everything. Well, it wouldn't give Sam that, because everybody knew the answer was forty-two, and the meter wasn't going to display that number, not with the spirit's ass kicked so effectively.

Dean let Sam monitor the little device to his heart's content and went over their supplies. He got a water bottle and chugged some down – it was a little cold, but not as freezing as it might have been if they had no fire burning close by – made Sam take a few sips, too, and then put the bottle away and sat by Sam's side.

"How are we doing with the EMF?" He asked, sliding an arm around his little brother. Sam automatically sank against him.

"Still just residue," he said. Then he looked up at Dean. "What if… what if Dad doesn't come back?"

Dean tried to smile and couldn't quite make it. The pang in his belly made him want to grimace and avoiding that was all he could manage for now. "He'll come back. He always does."

"But what if he doesn't, this time? What if we'll be stuck here forever with the ghost? What if-"

"Dude," Dean turned so he could look Sam in the eye. "Dad's coming back, okay? And the ghost is gone for now. I'll blast it away whenever it comes back until Dad gets here and we can gank it. You hear me, Sammy?"

Sam stared at him, his big eyes almost golden in the light of the flames. Then he nodded, and Dean's smile returned.

"That's my boy. C'mere," he settled Sam against his body. Sam had finally turned the EMF meter off, so the only noises were the howling of wind around the building and the crackling of the wood in the fire. It wasn't half-bad, Dean thought. Sammy and him, cozy in their blankets by their indoor campfire. If it wasn't for the constant worry for Dad gnawing in the back of his mind, this could have been a perfect night.

And then he heard the wolf howl again and his blood seemed to freeze in his veins.

The howl came from inside the store.

_Shit-shit-shit-shit_

Dean grabbed one of the handguns and got to his feet, gently pushing Sam back into the corner. He stalked to the window by the door and tried to peek through the broken, dirty glass. His heart was pounding so hard he was shaking. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down; he needed to be able to listen for any noise from the store.

He thought he could hear a sort of irregular clicking. He couldn't place the sound at first, and then it came: the noise of dog's nails clattering on the floor. A very, very big dog.

Dean brought the barrel of the gun up to the windowsill, but he still couldn't see anything in the feeble moonlight that seeped into the store. And then a wave of frost washed over his body as he noticed what looked like a furry back arching over a shelf. Jesus, it was _huge_.

Dean glanced back to make sure Sammy was still as far away from the door as possible. He had nowhere to sneak him away to; they were trapped in the office. But he would stand his ground, stand it till the end.

The wolf was moving again, the curve of its back sliding between the shelves like the shark's fin in 'Jaws'. Dean could almost hear the theme music playing in his head. Should he have made sure to grab the gun with the silver bullets? Dean didn't want to go back to where the weapons were piled by the blankets in case he had the wrong magazine. He wasn't even sure what the right magazine was in this case.

And then a big shape raised itself above a row of shelves and Dean was staring into eyes burning with unnatural orange light. The wolf's mouth opened a little, as if he was smirking at Dean, and then it dove back down between the shelves and its nails clicked on the floor.

Dean glanced at Sammy again and came to a decision. Letting the wolf reach the office was too risky. He moved away from the window and approached the door.

"Dean," the dread in Sam's voice tightened his chest with pain. He didn't turn to look at him. He couldn't.

"It's okay, Sammy. I won't let it get you. Stay there. Okay? Just… just stay there."

Dean wrapped his fingers around the doorknob, turned it and pulled. Not all the way, only enough for him to squeeze through. He hesitated before stepping over the salt-line, but barely for a second. If the ghost was to return so soon, it wouldn't be able to get to Sammy. About the wolf he wasn't that sure.

He slipped outside the office, pointing his gun every which way with one hand while the other pulled the door closed behind his back. He wished Sam had some way to bar the door, but even if there were heavy furniture in the office, the kid wouldn't have been able to move them. No, the only thing that would protect Sam was icing the wolf. Dean tightened his grip on the gun and took a step forward.

He couldn't see the wolf's back over the shelves anymore. Either the angle was wrong, or the thing was half-crawling. He tried to listen for the footfalls, but the wind had picked up, and the entire building was creaking. He took another step forward, then another, cautiously making his way through the corridor that connected the office to the main store.

Dean stopped at the edge of it. Heart thumping, blood rushing through his body and flooding his system with adrenaline. His eyesight and hearing seemed to heighten somehow, and he didn't feel the least bit cold. He held the gun steady, pointed it first right as he scanned the surrounding, and then swung it left in a wide arch.

The wolf was by the wall to the left. He leaped forward just as Dean caught sight of its glowing eyes. Dean squeezed the trigger, but the shot went wild, and then the giant thing rammed into him and knocked him back.

By some kind of crazy-ass luck, he didn't lose the gun. Just as the wolf bore down on him, Dean brought his hand up. The sound of the gunshot was deafening, but the sound of the wail the black thing made was music to Dean's ears. It was pushed back and Dean scrambled away from it and to his feet, even though his knees felt like they would never lock.

The wolf shook its head and then raised it and growled. Dean guessed the gun he grabbed wasn't the one with the silver bullets. Too late now. He leveled it at the wolf and took two more shots. The thing recoiled at the impact, letting out almost-human yelps of pain, but it didn't go down.

Then all of a sudden its head shot up, turned to the right, and a second later it leaped into the corridor that led to the office.

" _Sammy!_ " Dean was firing as he bolted after the wolf. The office ahead was in the line of fire, but almost all his shots went into the huge black animal. It hardly slowed down, though, and within seconds it crashed through the door. Dean could hear someone screaming " _NO!_ ", barely registering that the scream was coming from his own mouth.

He could see the wolf clearly framed by the light from the fire, and then he saw it flinch back with a sharp bark of pain. He didn't hear a gunshot, but Sam had clearly used something against it, and it was enough to hold it back for a second.

Dean shot it again, desperately, knowing the bullets were useless, but not knowing what else to do. It was then that he noticed he was exhaling white puffs of air and had time to realize the salt-line was broken before the ghost materialized out of thin air beside him.

And moved straight for the wolf.

It landed on the hellish animal like a swirling cloud of blazing white fire, and the wolf gave such an ear-splitting shriek that Dean's hands flew up to cover his ears, nearly knocking himself out as he forgot he was still holding the gun.

The wolf twisted and writhed, howling and screeching in pain, as the ghostly mist pulsed about it. Dean watched, frozen in place; the unbelievable fight was right at the door to the office, and he couldn't get through.

"Sam!" He hoped his brother could hear him over the terrible screams of the wolf. "Sammy!"

"Dean!" He was alive. He was okay, and Dean felt feeble with relief.

"Get to the back wall, you hear me? Get away from the door!" He moved a step to the left, then to the right, trying to get a glimpse of the inside of the office through the shattered door. But the battle of the ghost and the wolf-thing was raging just in front of him, and Dean had no choice but to retreat a little way from it.

Now the squirming form of the wolf was rising off the ground, its movements becoming jerkier, its screams louder and almost human. It fought inside the pulsing white fog, harder and harder, until Dean heard a sharp _crack_ and the black body went limp and dropped to the floor.

Dean didn't even wait to see if it was indeed unmoving; he practically leaped over it and into the office, and a second later Sam was in his arms, pressed so tight against his chest the blood circulation in his body was probably being cut off.

"You're okay, Sammy? Were you hurt? You're okay?" He was trying to feel Sam's pulse, Sam's bones, Sam's head, all while still hugging him.

"I'm fine," Sam's voice came choked and only then was Dean able to ease off. But just a little bit. Sam was clutching at his coat, as unwilling to let go as Dean.

"How the hell did you make the wolf back away?"

"Took a piece of burning wood from the fire. I waved it at it. I think I might've hit its snout."

Dean couldn't help it; he burst out laughing and squeezed Sam to him. "Jesus, Sammy, you're one badass sonovabitch. Don't let anybody tell you differently."

But the thought of the wolf made him remember the ghost. And the broken salt-line.

He almost knocked Sam down as he let go of him and spun on his heel to look at the door. Through the shreds of wood still clinging to the frame he saw a white human-shaped figure. It was stationed just beyond the threshold and didn't seem to be moving.

Dean glanced at the floor; the salt-line was a mess. The spirit could have crossed it easily, but it didn't.

Dean pushed Sam behind him, picked up the sawed-off and took a step forward, pointing it at the ghost. "Don't come in here or I shoot."

The white figure pulsed, then rippled and took shape. Dean found himself looking at a young man, about twenty-something, dressed in a hiking vest. The man raised his hands and shook his head slightly, then moved a little backwards and looked intently at them.

"Dean, I think… I think he's saying he doesn't want to hurt us," Sam said. He was moving behind Dean, probably trying to get a better look. Dean kept the gun trained on the spirit.

"Well, I'm not taking the chance," but he figured Sam was right; the dead dude should have been all over them by now, and he was just standing there, well beyond the broken salt-line.

The ghost started lowering his hands carefully, watching Dean's movements. Then he looked down at the body of the wolf-thing. He pointed at it, and then at himself, and looked at them expectedly.

"Do you think maybe he's saying the wolf killed him?" Sammy took another step, and now he was almost by Dean's side. "Did the wolf kill you, mister?"

The ghost nodded, baring his teeth in an almost-grin. He pointed at the wolf again, at himself, and raised a fist. Dean lowered the sawed-off by a few inches.

"The wolf killed you, so you took your revenge, huh?" He said. The ghost nodded again. Then he dropped his eyes and his shoulders slumped. He looked… sad. Defeated. Dean moved a little forward. "Are… are you okay?" God, was he actually asking _a ghost_ that?!

The spirit looked at him. His face was a mask of misery. He looked up at the ceiling for a long moment, then back down at the boys.

"He wants to move on," Sam said quietly. Dean let the barrel of the sawed-off drop all the way until it pointed to the floor. The spirit was watching him in silence, unmoving. Dean took a breath.

"Show us where it is."

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean was woken up by the loud whooshing of air breaks. He rolled on the sleeping bag away from Sammy, stumbled to his feet and crossed the store to the front door. The sky were already paling.

Dad waved at a semitrailer that rumbled its way down the road, and then turned and saw Dean.

"Hey, kiddo. Got the gas," he said with a smile. "Did you get some sleep?"

"Yeah," Dean said. Dad looked at him curiously.

"You okay, Dean?"

"Well, considering we somehow ended up in a haunted gas station, then yeah, I'm fine."

Dad's eyes doubled in size. " _Haunted_? What the hell are you talking about?! The meter didn't show anything."

"Come on inside, I'll explain everything."

Sam was sitting up and rubbing his eyes when they came into the office, and Dad crouched by his side and ran his fingers through his sleep-tousled hair. "Morning, Sammy." Sam smiled sleepily at him.

Dad stood up and turned, and almost immediately jumped back and drew his gun. "Dean, move out of the way! Now!"

"It's okay, Dad. You can put the gun down," Dean glanced at the white figure that hovered just outside the office's door. "That's Tom. He's a good guy."

Dad was still holding the gun trained on the ghost while Dean relayed yesternight's adventure, but the barrel was sinking downwards as the story unraveled, until Dad looked at it, shrugged and shoved it back into the waistband of his jeans.

"So, the wolf… you burned it?"

"Yes, sir. Just outside the station, couldn't drag it too far away. The sonovabitch was freakin' heavy. I can write down all the details and the description n' stuff. You know, for your journal."

"Yeah," Dad said. He was still eyeing the spirit. "And you didn't torch Tom's remains, because…?"

"Ran out of lighter fluid. Also, I thought you'd like to meet him."

Dad nodded, slowly, then took a step forward. "Thanks, uh, Tom. For saving my sons."

The white figure pulsed once, and Dean grinned. "I guess that means you're welcome? C'mon, Dad, let's go finish it."

Tom was floating by their side as they covered the short distance into the woods behind the station. He was hardly visible in the sunlight, but once in the shade of the trees he was giving out that soft white glow again.

It did snow last night, but not as heavily as Dean had thought it would. Just a little bit drifted down through the heavy canopy of trees to cover the now-exposed remains of one Thomas E. Tucker, once a carefree hiker, now a restless spirit.

"The wolf got him while he was walking through the woods," Dean said as he crouched by the rotten body, Sam by his side. "He probably came after it when he saw it stalking the gas station and preparing to make a move. If I hadn't blasted him away when I first saw him, he would have gotten it sooner. Sorry, man," he said to Tom, who pulsed and then rippled and took on his human form. He looked hopefully at the container Dad was holding.

Dad unscrewed the top off. "Let's send you on your way, Tom. Dean, got the salt?"

"Yeah," he poured it over the remains, then paused. "We need to let his family know what happened to him."

Dad looked thoughtfully at the shredded pieces of Tom's belongings. "We'll leave the wallet out here. I'll place an anonymous call to the police about a fire in the woods. They'll find it. They might think he was murdered and torched, but at least his family will have closure."

He soaked the body with a little of the gasoline and took out a book of matches from his pocket. Dean stood back and looked at Tom.

"Thank you," he said, trying to smile. "Rest in peace."

He thought he saw the spirit smile back at him. He put his arm around Sam's shoulders as Dad lit the matches and threw them down. The fire burst sudden and bright, then ghostly flames engulfed the white figure before them, and Tom was gone.

The three of them stood there silently until the fire died down. They walked silently back, silently gathered their things from the gas station, and silently refueled the Impala and piled inside as her rumble filled the space where their silence had reigned before.

As they started driving away from the shabby building, Sam turned to look through the back window.

"Do you think…" he said. "Do you think Tom's in heaven?"

Dean peeked back at the station, and then at Sam. He could have told Sam that they don't know if Tom was such a great guy while he was still alive to deserve a place in heaven; he could have told Sam that Tom might have had no motive in helping them other than taking his revenge on the wolf and being released from his wretched existence; he could have told Sam that there might not even _be_ a heaven, not for Tom, not for any of them.

Dean shifted his gaze from Sam to the gas station that was now only a speck of dust on the road that stretched behind them. "Yeah, Sammy," he said. "I think heaven is where Tom is."

 

**Author's Note:**

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